


My Sanctuary

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Just Give Me A Reason [1]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Burns, Declarations Of Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, M/M, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: “You shouldn’t be out here Jonathan.” Geoffrey started. “Dawn is near. You know better than this.”“Do I really?” Jonathan hissed through his teeth, a flare of anger rushing over him as he turned on the hunter with a snarl of fangs. Geoffrey didn’t flinch or draw away. He stood firm in his stance and met the Ekon’s bloodshot eyes. The puffy swollen bags as he struggled against the onslaught of emotions welling up over him.“If you think letting the sun bake you is a good enough repentance, then you’re sorely mistaken.” Geoffrey pointed out flatly.-------Jonathan lost everything and is having trouble seeing the purpose in his immortal life. Geoffrey wants to be his reason to keep moving on.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: Just Give Me A Reason [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574890
Comments: 16
Kudos: 132





	My Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the song Hold On For Your Life by Sam Tinnesz. I listened to this over and over again while writing this fic. That and Walk Through The Fire by Zayde Wolf and Ruelle.
> 
> This is a bit of a heavy topic and hits on some prominent parts of the game that feel overlooked to me. There is a lot of grief in the game and Jonathan handles much of it like a champ but he is also steadily struggling to handle a lot of it over time. Nobody is perfect or free from the emotional and mental burdens of loss and even immortals succumb to their own doubts just as Lady Ashbury did. Jonathan has his own crisis and Geoffrey is the hand reaching out to him to aid him in his time of need.

It’s an odd sort of problem to have, Jonathan decided. With some contemplation and the prospect of eternity before him, he couldn’t really decide how he wished to live those days. If one could even call this undead existence _living._ Every choice he’s made up until now were for the sake of others, every decision and consequence had another’s name or face plastered across it from fending off the outbreak and defeating the Disaster right down to the tiny actions of tending to patients and retrieving missing items for the sentimental such as Miss Popa’s scarf or helping Mr. Russel find a new and interesting eating establishment.

Every step he took was colored by those around him, submerged in a veil of diligent debt, as if his very existence owed them reparations for merely passing through. Repaying kindnesses only to find they were steeped in lies and betrayal, offering guidance only to be met with deception, giving medicine but being asked for a merciful death instead. The very foundations of his life was crumbling apart beneath his feet and now that he stood on the other side of a war, so far from the trenches and the blood, removed from the antiseptic stench of cleaner and burning scent of sterilized equipment. The sanitized version of his days felt unreal. His motions were monotonous, without meaning or depth. Without any real purpose than to follow routine, talk to the same person standing on the street or lying in the same bed as he did the night before, offer the same exact piece of advice he’s said for the twentieth time that week and being brushed off with dismissive words and suspicious glances or the barely concealed bitter politeness and strained smiles.

Maybe that was what led him to this point, standing in the Whitechapel cemetery, along the long rows of long dead. Those he saved through the epidemic still succumbed to one problem or another. Murdered by gang violence, overdosed on self prescribed opiates, drowned themselves in alcohol, or met the end of a haphazardly wound rope slipped carefully around a fragile and bruised neck. Others fell to sickness so simple and easily cured but couldn’t afford the help, or didn’t dare ask. Some were lost just because they couldn’t afford food, proper clothing or shelter, coiled tightly into the darkened corners of alleys until the elements claimed them. All of his efforts were for nothing. The bodies stacked up steadily as if the Reaper himself found humour in watching him fumble and struggle along the way. He had succeeded, only to watch his accomplishments rot in the earth later.

The bitter resentment that he had so desperately staved off for so long had found a home in his heart, nibbling at the edges with painful determination, refusing to allow him peace of mind. Even the sun couldn’t provide the merciful quiet he grasped at. His sleep was fitful, restless and fraught with nightmares. Flashes of his failures carefully strung together in a montage with enough dramatic flair to rival that of the late great Doris Fletcher. Burned up in the ashes of its own glory.

He could feel the hours inching closer to dawn. The prickling sensation of concern as his instincts alerted him of the impending danger to himself. He lingered in the shadows of the mausoleums, reading every single headstone he passed by, committing the dates and names to memory because even for one moment, they deserved to be remembered. He brushed a hand over each headstone and marker, greeted each mound beneath his feet by name before moving on to the next. He did this for every single one, making his way up the winding steps and through the small courtyard leading to the circular plot where Mary was buried.

He took his time making his way around the space, taking note of every stone, including one familiar one erected in the memory of Priwen’s former leader. His soft grey blue eyes finally fell on Mary’s and beside it, his mother Emelyne. Jonathan dropped to kneel, feeling the soft damp earth sink into the fabric of his knees but the chill no longer bothered him. Not in this morbid form he occupied. No, he no longer had to concern himself with the elements and the fickle english weather. He smoothed his palms over both stones, brushing his thumbs along the carefully etched names as his voice broke softly.

“I am so sorry.” His shoulders hunched as he hung his head, unable to look at the stones and their stoic facades. “I have failed you both. Mother. Mary. My sweet sweet sister Mary.” His voice broke, a sharp crack as he sucked in a breath he didn’t really need to survive. An automated action reminiscent of his former mortality and his slowly dwindling humanity. 

“I promise I will make it up to you.” He mumbled, the prickling warmth of tears slid slow tracks down his cheeks. Big fat red drops that carved a path over pale luminescent skin. He drew in a shuddering breath, bracing himself for the encroaching rays of dawn. The quiet anticipation was a needle thin silence that snapped as a voice interrupted. A deep rumbly timbre so painfully familiar, it felt like a hot blade had been crammed between his ribs and twisted with a sadistic edge, angling into his heart over and over again. The forceful leverage against his undead organs throbbed.

“How are you planning on doing that, Reid?” Geoffrey called, a sound that was far too loud in the deafening silence of the cemetery. Jonathan winced, half compelled to hush the disrespectful sound but his energy drained in that moment. His shoulders slumped weakly, his head still hung, eyes drooped towards the dew covered blades of grass brushing against his pants. He let his hands drop among them, fingers spread and splayed through as he combed back and forth in slow idle motions.

“Please leave me alone McCullum.” He drew in a breath that pained him too much, letting it out instead with the quiet knowledge that he couldn’t truly die from suffocation. He didn’t need to breath. He didn’t really even need to eat. He could sit right here and let time pass by as if he were nothing more than a statue. Would the earth reclaim him? Would vines and weeds sprout up around him? Would it be painful or will he fade into a blissful state of absence? After all, he had an eternity to find out.

“No can do.” Geoffrey approached, his distinctive swagger was noticeable even in the ambient sound of his boots on stone. Jonathan had seen it so many times, he could see it in perfect clarity, every last inch and detail of the hunter. Memorized from numerous interactions even after he returned from Scotland. “I can’t let a leech go unsupervised. Who knows what kind of ill intentions you have skulking about a cemetery in this hour?”

The playfulness in his tone was normally a welcome sound to Jonathan’s ears, the gentle reminder that they were on far better terms than their first encounter. A pleasant thought that had soothed his worries in the past but now it was an errant thorn in his side that grated on his nerves.

“Given what I am, what hour would you expect me to be roaming?” He didn’t mean to snap or sound chaste but it came out edged and strained. He cocked his head to the side, catching a partial glimpse of the hunter and the shadows framing his tired features. He caught the momentary flicker of concern when Geoffrey noticed the blood stains on his face but Jonathan turned away quickly, letting his gaze sink back towards the earth in front of him as he sagged down further. He wanted to curl up between the mounds, to settle between his sister and mother like he once had done when they were children. Seeking the warmth and safety of having them at his side, to feel his mother’s strong tender arms wrap around him, her soft lips press kisses against his temple as she told them bedtime stories. To feel Mary’s hand woven between his fingers when the nights were long and she was afraid of the shadows that lurk in the corners of their home, huddled together on his bed because she felt safest when he was near. And he felt the same by her side. They were courageous together, defiant towards the world and sharing the most extravagant fantastical ideas in the wee hours.

He wanted to curl up and sob, to dig his fingers into the earth and bury himself beneath it. To succumb to the same end they had, to finish his story and ignore the consequences with blissful ignorance. He didn’t know if vampires found heaven or if an afterlife even awaited him. He didn’t lie prettily and promise himself that he would see them on the other side. He had no creative lies to tell but the allure was there nonetheless. Pearly gates or no, at least it would be peaceful. It would be better than this.

Geoffrey shifted, stepping closer to Jonathan until he loomed over the man. The ekon felt the hand that briefly touched his shoulder, the gentle brush of fingers along the collar of his jacket before they receded back again. The teasing tone was absent now when Geoffrey spoke again. The carefully woven concern laced his words as he watched the crimson drops fall to the earth beneath Jonathan.

“You shouldn’t be out here Jonathan.” Geoffrey started. “Dawn is near. You know better than this.”

“Do I really?” Jonathan hissed through his teeth, a flare of anger rushing over him as he turned on the hunter with a snarl of fangs. Geoffrey didn’t flinch or draw away. He stood firm in his stance and met the Ekon’s bloodshot eyes. The puffy swollen bags as he struggled against the onslaught of emotions welling up over him. 

“If you think letting the sun bake you is a good enough repentance, then you’re sorely mistaken.” Geoffrey pointed out flatly. His eyes narrowed on the ekon, forcing Jonathan to turn away, sniffing quietly as he stared at the ground again. His lip trembled, one hand raised to wipe at his face but he stopped part way, noticing the mud on his palms and sighed heavily. He was a mess.

"I'd come to think you of all people would be pleased with that outcome." He winced at the sound of his own bitterness, the vitriol rolling off of his tongue was a venomous taste he didn't find pleasant in the slightest. He twisted his words like a dagger edge, in hopes that if he used them to swipe at the hunter enough times, he'd take the hint and leave him to his misery. "One less _leech_ to deal with. One less problem to add to your list. You can just check me off for the next Great Hunt Geoffrey. I don't intend to stick around long enough to witness it."

"Jonathan." The firm tone was gravelly as he forced his way into the heavy silence. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"I do. You seem to be the only one not listening. I don't want you here McCullum. _Go away!_ " He growled lowly. 

Geoffrey shook his head, his footsteps shifted behind Jonathan but after a minute, they started to recede. "Fine. Have it your way leech." He hissed.

Jonathan thought he could relish in the silence. He attempted to but it only made that emptiness in the pit of his stomach heavier. The chilling grip of loneliness curled around his heart, squeezing it so painfully he couldn't breath. When the first rays of light crested over the horizon, he felt the dread that crept upon him. He indulged in his desire and curled up on the ground, ignoring the mud that smeared his clothes as he laid between his mother and sister's headstones. One hand touching each in a desperate search for comfort as he faced the burning rays of daylight.

  
  
  
  


The cool night air was a welcome relief against his skin. The soft ticklish gust playing across his neck like a childish sprite. Jonathan slowly opened his eyes and felt a frown crease his features. His memory was foggy, his thoughts all jumbled up as he tried to decipher how exactly he ended up here. He remembered visiting the cemetery, kneeling before his family asking for forgiveness and he pleaded to their headstones. But this was not the cemetery.

The room was cozy in appearance if not, rather small. He was lying in the only bed within, a nightstand at his side where a basin of water and bandages rested. He blinked, clearing away the blurriness in his vision, raising a hand to rub at his eyes only to feel the soft fabric of gauze on his cheek. He glanced down, finding he was dressed down to just his trousers and the white dress shirt, half unbuttoned and disorganized. His arms were patched in white dressings, fingers pock marked in black still, a raw pain clung to his hands as if his veins throbbed with a residual fire inside them.

"Ah, you're finally up. Got your wits about you now or are you still raving mad?" His attention snapped up to find Geoffrey seated across the room, comfortably stretched out in a chair behind his desk. His bright blue eyes fixed on the Ekon curiously, awaiting a response.

"I uh...did I..?" His voice faded out with confusion. He couldn't quite recall what happened after his argument with Geoffrey but the hunter seemed courteous about him now. 

"You let the sun turn you into a crispy critter. Or at least tried to. That big fancy coat of yours saved you." He pointed out, gesturing at the heap of dirty clothing piled in the corner. Jonathan could smell the char from here, a stench he didn't think he'd encounter again outside of the war. The pungent odor of burnt hair and skin, flared more prominently by his vampiric senses.

Jonathan sighed heavily, examining the extensive wounds on his arms where the skin was still healing back. He knew sunlight burned whatever it touched. His sleeves had been shoved down enough from his lollygagging in the mud to let it burn them up. His fingers seemed to have had the worst of it and one side of his face. He wondered briefly what kind of horror he may have looked, lying half charred on the ground between two graves. He hadn't considered the possibility that someone would find him but he assumed that was an inevitable fact he overlooked. Just as he had numerous other tiny details like not taking his coat off or picking a better spot for his mental breakdown. The overwhelming shame that rolled through him made his stomach clench something horrid and his head throb in agreement.

"Why did you help me?" His words lacked the previous anger, settling instead into something weary and broken. He drew his legs up against his chest and folded his arms around them, feeling less like the grown former soldier and doctor he is and more like the fragile confused child he was so many years ago. The only difference was, now he was truly alone in this world.

Geoffrey eyed him suspiciously for a moment before giving in with an answer. "You looked like you could use a friend." He stated it as if it were a simple fact of life. 

"Why?" Jonathan raised an incredulous brow that earned a heavy sigh from the hunter.

"You're gonna make me say it aren't you?"

"Say what?" He asked dryly.

"Christ Reid, you're hopeless." Geoffrey huffed in exasperation. "Because I bloody well like you. It'd be a sorry day to find you gone and I don't want to see you go out that way. You deserve better."

Jonathan was speechless, jaw hung open as he stared at the hunter in disbelief. This had to be a trick of some kind. A cruel and tasteless joke. _Something_. He couldn't really fathom how all this was unfolding. Maybe he really was dead and this was the hell he landed in? Not that he didn't like Geoffrey. He was rather fond of the hunter, more so than he'd think would be socially acceptable to admit and he doubted Geoffrey would be pleased to hear that admission from him ever.

"Jonathan." He spoke sternly, dragging him out of his thoughts abruptly. "I understand it's not easy. I know what it's like to lose sight of the world around you. All you need is to find one reason to live, to keep moving forward and work through the obstacles." Geoffrey stood up from his desk and crossed the distance in quick long strides. 

Before Jonathan knew it, he was standing at his side, one hand reaching out to touch his shoulder with a tenderness he didn't think the hunter capable of. There was a heavy breath that escaped his chest, an unseen weight balanced precariously on his shoulders. "Let me be that reason, even though it'd be a temporary one. I don't want to see your sorry corpse curled up in another cemetery or falling off the pier in the East End."

Jonathan was normally a man of many carefully crafted and well articulated words. _Normally._ At this point in time, every last one of his years of academic knowledge and extensive flourishing vocabulary had evaded him entirely and left him with the barbarically simple and embarrassing poorly put together fumble that was his childish attempt at reciprocating. "I eh...er...hm...I would-" he pursed his lips, shook his head in disappointment at himself then sighed. "Accept." He blurted. "I accept. Your proposition that is. And...erm whatever else that it entails possibly?" 

The last part was a trail of hopefulness left unspoken. His gaze flicking up to Geoffrey who offered a warm smile at the great doctor's stumbling words as if it didn't make him appear to be the greatest fool of London. He nodded graciously and kept the amusement settled pleasantly on his features. "Good. You should rest a while more. You're still regenerating your hands back. I'll send the lads out to catch you some rats in the meantime."

For once, Jonathan didn't argue. It was strange being the one catered to when his profession had him serving others for so long. It was downright foreign. He sighed, let his legs stretch back out on the bed as he examined his hands in the quiet. Geoffrey moved to return to his desk but paused long enough to reach out and squeeze Jonathan's shoulder in a final note of reassurance. "There's no shame in letting others care about you Jonathan. And there is no foolishness in admitting you need help sometimes."

Jonathan raised his hand to cup over Geoffrey's in a small gesture of understanding but stopped and winced when his blistered palms touched skin. Geoffrey offered a sympathetic smile before drawing away. "I'll go get those rats. You'll heal up a lot faster."

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and kudos what you think of the piece! It is much appreciated!


End file.
